


Ships That Pass

by aurilly



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Lost
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Dimension Travel, Gen, Time Loop, Time Travel, implied Susan/Richard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:33:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/pseuds/aurilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dawn Treader arrives at an island stranger than anything on the voyage so far.</p><p>Meanwhile (sort of, not really), in 1954, Susan goes undercover as a British spy on a US Naval ship in the South Pacific.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ships That Pass

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isquinnabel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isquinnabel/gifts).



> We've already got a magical island that moves in time and space (and where sometimes people move in time while on it). I figured it wasn't too much of a stretch to posit that it also drifts between worlds.

At this point in the quest, the sighting of a new island is hardly noteworthy, but the green cliffs soaring above holiday catalogue-worthy beaches make this one the most impressive they have yet encountered.

“The water is too shallow to set anchor,” Drinian announces, breaking Edmund’s admiring reverie. “The magician and the Duffelpuds stocked us for weeks to come, so I don’t see the use in exploring. This looks like just another uninhabited rock.”

“But perhaps this is where we’ll find the Lord…” Caspian begins, and then shakes his head. “Why can I never recall his name?”

“Lord Rhoop,” everyone says in unison, having become accustomed to supplying it for him. 

Edmund and Lucy have been leaning on the ship’s railing and staring at the island for the past half hour, considering its call. Lucy's chin rests in the crook of her elbow.

“What do you say?” Edmund asks her.

“Let’s go. There’s something about this place…”

“I’d like to come, too,” Eustace says.

Caspian gives Drinian and the crew instructions that will keep them busy while he, Edmund, Lucy and Eustace explore. The four of them set out in a small rowboat with little expectation beyond an opportunity to stretch their land legs for an afternoon.

The beach is just as pretty as it seemed from afar, but once ashore, the island proves as uninhabited as Drinian suspected. There are no paths, no roads, no sounds other than the waves. 

“This direction seems promising,” Caspian says, pointing at random.

They haven’t walked far when Edmund hears a rustling in the palm trees. He whisks his head around, but sees nothing, and assumes it was simply a stronger gust of wind than usual. The movement he thought he saw must have been branches swaying or a trick of the light.

But a minute later, Eustace squawks and grabs his arm in panic.

“Something dark?” Edmund asks. “Just out of the corner of your eye?”

Eustace gulps and Edmund takes that as a ‘yes’.

To confirm his suspicions, they now hear an ugly roaring from the jungle, a horrible noise that half resembles a pack of frightened elephants and half an angry banshee. Two trees, uprooted from the roots, come flying from the middle of the jungle, aimed right at their heads.

Edmund drags Lucy out of the first tree’s path just in time.

“Could it be another dragon?” she asks Eustace once she’s caught her breath.

“Dragons don’t make sounds like that.”

The wailing grows ever closer, but what emerges from the jungle is not a dragon.

A column of smoke, so thick it’s almost solid, snakes between the trees and down the beach. It crackles and whines as it flattens into a circle around them, surrounding the little group and stranding them like an island in a black sea. Sparks of lightening flicker inside it and give it a disgusting sort of texture.

But what truly frightens Edmund, more than the knowledge that this smoke can uproot trees and bellow like an animal, is the sense that all his worst deeds are being played like a film before him. Buried in the smoke’s sparks are flashes—Jadis, the stone lion he defaced, the defeated frowns of boys Edmund bullied at school before he discovered Narnia… With each electrical crack, every nasty thing he’s ever done is projected at him before disintegrating back into the darkness.

From the way Eustace whimpers and Caspian blanches, he has a feeling they are seeing their private regrets, too. Guilt made tangible, the past made punishing. He’s ready to succumb to this judgment, to whatever will happen when the smoke swallows them whole. 

Then Lucy’s voice rings out clear and commanding in the silence.

“I am not afraid of you. Leave us alone.”

It’s a tone Edmund hasn’t heard from Lucy since they were grown-ups. Just as hardened warriors stopped and listened to that voice then, so does the rippling blanket of smoke around them now. It gathers itself into a thick rope—twice as wide as the sea serpent had been—and faces her. For a long, tense moment, they read one another. Edmund doesn’t know what he will do when it strikes. How do you kill smoke?

But it doesn’t strike. It gives one last batch of crackles and then wisps off into the jungle again, leaving the beach as quiet as it had been before its arrival.

Edmund breathes for the first time in minutes. Beside him, Eustace crumples to the ground out of sheer mental exhaustion.

“Did you see what I saw?” Caspian whispers. “In the smoke.”

Edmund nods grimly. None of them want to supply particulars.

“I’ve had enough adventure for today,” Eustace says, trying to sound nonchalant, but his teeth are still chattering. “And anyway, it’s like Drinian said. Rhoop isn’t here. No one’s here. Let’s go back to the ship.”

Before anyone can answer, an unearthly hum begins ringing in Edmund’s ears. It grows louder and more painful, making his brain feel too big for his skull. The sunlight shines unbearably bright, blinding him.

Edmund has felt something like this before: on the train platform just before Susan’s old horn dragged them all back to Narnia.

“It’s magic,” Lucy says, just as she did then. She and Edmund join everyone’s hands together. “Hold tight!”

The sky turns purple and Edmund thinks the pressure behind his nose will make his head explode. Everything goes white and then…

Nothing happens. The light is gone. The whirring has stopped. The pain ebbs away.

Everything is exactly as it was a moment ago.

“Well, that was a lot of bother for nothing,” Eustace says, once he’s found his balance again.

“Poor magic indeed,” Caspian agrees with the same false bravado.

Yet Edmund can’t shake the sense that something is not right. He looks around them, trying to spot something that will prove… what, he isn’t sure.

Then he sees it. Or rather, he doesn’t.

“Where has the ship gone?”

They all peer offshore. Where only minutes ago the _Dawn Treader_ was bobbing peacefully in the distance, now there is nothing to break the line of the horizon. Not only that, but their rowboat is gone, too.

There’s a flurry of ‘when did you last look back for the ship?’ questioning between them until Caspian silences them with a truth.

“Drinian would never abandon us here.”

“Even if he did,” Eustace says, “there’s no way he could have sailed out of sight this quickly. We’ve only been on this island for a few minutes, and that little ship of yours doesn’t have much speed.” 

(He may have improved during this voyage, but when he’s frightened, his nasty side still sometimes reappears.) 

Caspian draws his eyebrows together and opens his mouth to say something cutting.

“Stop it, you two.” Edmund interrupts the brewing squabble with another unsettling observation. “I could have sworn the tide was coming _in_ a moment ago.”

The waves that made rowing into the island so easy are now pulling away, without ever having reached the high tide marks in the sand.

* * *

“There are only supposed to be four islands in this archipelago,” Susan says, so surprised by the sight of the island coming into view that she almost forgets to maintain her gravelly impersonation of a man, not to mention her false American accent.

The idiot captain takes a slow drag on his cigarette and weighs not just her words, but also the sight in front of them. In this operation, Susan’s observed, sang froid is valued above intelligence. It’s maddening, but in a way, she can understand it; when your job is to practice ending the world, callousness can save one’s sanity.

“The South Pacific is the last frontier, Lieutenant Peters,” he tells her blandly. “We’re here _because_ of surprises like this.”

Susan purses her lips, trying not to laugh at such nonsense masquerading as strategy. It’s 1954, she wants to say. All the last frontiers have been mapped and categorized. There should be no surprises left.

What she wouldn’t give to have Edmund of Peter here with her, instead of using their combined names as her alias. Susan has been undercover on this ship for over a month, and each day she has made note of how much more efficiently—not to mention humanely—this mission would have been handled under her command, or one of her siblings’.

“Are we performing the test here, captain?” another lieutenant asks, and the captain nods.

“What if there are natives?” Susan asks.

“There weren’t natives on any of the other islands. And we’ve circled around; not a sign of civilization anywhere near the shore.”

“I’ll inform the men to prepare for our arrival,” she offers, thinking farther ahead than her superiors. 

“Tell them to get the zodiacs ready. We won’t be able to get very close. The area around the island is too shallow. I figure we’ll have to anchor twenty leagues offshore and shuttle the team in on rafts.

“Understood.”

On her way out, Susan can’t help herself. _Someone_ has to say it. “Don’t you find it strange that this island is not only uncharted, but also has a completely different topography from the others we’ve passed?”

“You worry too much, Ed,” the captain laughs.

She makes her way into the bowels of the ship, down to her quarters. She’s somehow managed to maintain her cover despite sharing a cabin with another sailor.

She finds McMillan on the top bunk, reading a novel and sneaking a draught of brandy from a flask.

“Gather your gear,” she tells him once the cabin door is closed behind her. “We’re leaving in a few minutes.”

“To go where? We passed the last island in the archipelago hours ago.”

“Yes, but they’ve just spotted another one that wasn’t on the map. The captain, in his infinite wisdom, has taken this uncharted landmass as an omen of good fortune. The tests are to be conducted there.”

McMillan chokes on his cigarette smoke. “Testing this bomb on an unknown island? Has he lost his goddamn mind?”

“That would assume he ever had one.”

McMillan chuckles, and together, they assemble their packs in preparation for disembarkation. Only eighteen men out of the thirty on the ship are chosen to go to the island; the rest are to stay behind for monitoring and security.

Despite its size, the captain’s right; this island shows no signs of habitation. There are boar tracks here and there, but animals seem scarce; the lack of birdsong makes for a quiet trek during the long hike inland.

As she brings up the rear of the troop, bushwhacking through overgrown ferns and stepping over moss-covered fallen trees, Susan decides she likes it here.

It’s too bad they’re about to blow the island up, for sport.

On the fourth day of their increasingly slow trek, they stop for a break in an idyllic place where two streams meet to form the closest thing to a river that she’s yet seen on this island. Susan’s legs are still fresh and she feels no need to rest, but once she’s finished cupping her hands in the stream for a drink, she realizes how tired the men are.

In fact, many of them look dreadfully ill. Especially the scientists and the soldiers who’ve been walking up front with the bomb.

When the captain orders them to keep moving, a few of the men can’t seem to muster the strength. Private Anderson, usually so strong, collapses while trying to pick up his pack. He dares not ask for a longer pause, and so tries again, but he’s incapable of getting up. Susan tries to help him to his feet.

Beside her, two more of the men who’d been up front fall to the ground, panting and sweating.

“Get up. We have to keep going,” the captain orders. But he’s looking peaky, too.

“Perhaps we need a longer break, Captain,” Susan suggests, in the tone she used to employ in Narnia when her remarks were anything but suggestions.

She can see the captain struggling, wanting to tell her she’s out of line, but when she silently levels him The Look—the one no one dare disobey—he relaxes his shoulders. 

“We’ll eat lunch here and then continue,” he says.

Dr. Stevens, one of the physicists here to monitor the test, comes to sit beside Susan, apart from the rest of the group. They’ve become friends during the voyage. Part of Susan’s job as a spy for the British government is to dig up information beyond what might be written on papers or in logbooks. Charming the leaders of the mission is easy, but with Dr. Stevens her regard is real.

“It’s got a leak,” he whispers. 

“I beg your pardon?”

“The bomb. It’s unstable. The crack hasn’t yet appeared in the casing, so the captain refuses to believe me, but I see the signs. Anderson and the others don’t know it, but they’re already coming down with radiation poisoning.”

Susan has studied enough about these bombs to know what that means, what an awful death it will lead to. 

“What will happen when they try to detonate it?”

“I’ve only supervised tests of healthy bombs. I don’t know what a compromised one would do. Something dirty and uncontrollable, I would imagine.”

“What can we do?” Susan asks.

“Nothing. I’m only a scientist. I don’t have the authority to call off the test, and neither does the captain, really. Any efforts to stop it will have to come from outside. But I don’t see how that’s going to happen. And I don’t believe in miracles.”

“Well, we’re in luck, because I do.” Susan smiles grimly. “But they’re a gift you work for, not a given. I’ll think of something.”

“I’m counting on you, Lieutenant Peters.”

When he gets up, Susan notices a nasty burn on the back of his neck. The same kind of sore Anderson has on his hand.

After lunch, the weary troops resume their march, and Susan tries to think of something, anything. The mission given to her by MI6 was to report on the American bomb testing, not to stop it, but she decides this turn of events changes the priorities.

Now that she’s paying more attention to her surroundings, she sees what she missed before, or which perhaps had not been present in the previous days’ walks. There _are_ tracks other than boar hooves, cleverly covered footprints and indentations in the moss. They’re would be invisible to most eyes, but to a former queen of Narnia, who spent years tracking fleet-footed quarry through woods even denser than these, they’re quite obvious.

People do live on this island. Quite a few, if she’s reading the tracks correctly. The miraculous outside force Stevens doesn’t dare to hope for.

Susan increases the distance between herself and the officer in front of her so that she’s the last straggler by quite a margin. At the next gully they pass, she picks out a nice, mossy spot and lets herself roll silently down a crevasse. Just as she used to do as a scout for her brothers’ army, she times her steps with the noises of the troop, and has gone far in the opposite direction before she hears the shouts that signal her absence has been noted. By wading through the stream, she leaves no tracks.

It isn’t desertion when she was never a true member of the US Navy in the first place. Outrunning sick, overheated men with limited tracking skills won’t be hard. It’s convincing the natives to help her that will pose the real challenge.

She follows the stream back to where she last saw a larger clump of tracks. It’s hidden by an overturned tree stump, but there’s a well-worn trail leading away and up the hill.

“Stop running,” a soft voice calls out behind her.

She’s surprised, and almost impressed, that anyone has caught up with her so quickly, but she has infinitely more woodland experience than anyone else on the ship. As long as they don’t shoot (and she’s made herself so popular that she doubts anyone will, no matter what her crime), she should be able to escape her pursuer.

“Susan, wait.”

The use of her name, which she hasn’t heard in months, is the only thing that could and does make her stop short. She and her superiors back in England had been so careful to create and maintain her cover as ‘Edmund Peters’, a talented recruit from Northwestern Massachusetts. She can’t imagine how anyone has found her out.

But the serene blond man leaning peacefully against a tree isn’t one of the ship’s crew, or indeed, anyone she’s ever met. Instead of a uniform, he wears faded brown trousers and an old white linen shirt that has never met an iron. From the indulgent way he smiles at her, she’s mostly certain he means her no harm.

Still, she knows better than to drop her guard with so little information.

“I think you have me confused with someone else. In fact,” she says with a genial laugh that people have always found disarming, “you can see by my uniform that I’m a member of the US Navy. Hardly a woman.”

“I promise, you’ll have more success with the people you seek as yourself than you would as Lieutenant Peters.”

He somehow knows not only her name, but also her present intentions.

“What do you mean?” she asks, giving up the pretense of denial.

“When you find them, tell them the truth.”

“Where can I find the natives?” she asks. 

“You’ll find they are anything but natives.”

“Semantics aside, where can I find them?”

“They’re camped on the far side of the mountain.” He points at the tallest peak of the island. “You can make it before nightfall if you run, but you’ll have to leave your pack here if you want to keep up enough speed.”

“I’m to run, unequipped, away from the tracks I’ve been following, simply on your word? You must be mad.”

He has the gall to look disappointed. The entire reason she became a spy, surrounded herself with strangers, pushed herself to breaking almost every single day, is so no one will have cause to look at her like that, the way Aunt Polly and Peter used to, towards the end. But this stranger does; his head tilts and his lip almost pouts, as he says, “Do you remember the last time someone asked you to hike in a certain direction, just on faith?”

Susan has to hold onto a tree to keep her knees from buckling. “How do you know these things?”

He smiles, maddeningly calm, knowing he’s won. “When you get to the camp, ask to see Richard.”

“Who is Richard?”

The man looks into the trees behind him. “The search party will be here in a few minutes. If you want to evade them, you need to leave now.”

He’s made it clear that he intends to answer no further questions, so Susan quickly hides her pack behind some rocks, keeping only her water bottle. With a word of thanks to her mysterious advisor, she takes off at a run.

* * *

Eustace is the first to notice the wooden dock down the beach from where they’re standing. It wasn’t there a moment ago, and seems to have gone from nonexistence to dilapidation in an instant.

“If there’s a dock, that means boats must have once stopped here,” Lucy says. “Which means there might be civilization inland. I vote we explore the jungle a bit to see.”

“The Queen’s plan is our best option,” Caspian says after some heated deliberation. “This is the adventure Aslan has given us. Courage, friends, and onward.”

It’s either start walking or continue to stand and argue, so they end up trudging to the dock, which, up close, proves to be more than simply dilapidated. It’s been violently destroyed, with shards of wood sticking out at odd angles. 

“Looks like someone dynamited it,” Eustace says after inspecting the damage.

“I assume that is some sort of act of destruction…?” Caspian says questioningly.

“Yes, but it isn’t something that could ever happen here,” Edmund assures him, and then frowns at Eustace. “Dynamite. Honestly. Of all the outsized ideas.”

“Well, how I am to know what they have in this world and what they don’t?” Eustace grumbles. He’d thought it a reasonable guess at the time, but Edmund’s always had a knack of making logic sound stupid. It isn’t _Eustace’s_ fault that he isn’t as accustomed to magic lands as the rest of them.

There’s a stream near the dock, exactly the kind Lucy wants them to follow. They prepare to use swords to bushwhack their way through the jungle, but luckily, a wide and fairly well maintained dirt road leads directly from the dock to the interior of the island. The stream runs parallel to the road, so they walk in comfort, without ever losing sight of the water.

The road leads straight uphill and ends at the opening to a beautiful clearing. A row of identically sized houses stretches before them. They look like fishing village houses: small, wooden, on stilts, and simply made. In the dimming light, it’s hard to make out many details, but for a settlement with so many dwellings, the village is eerily silent.

“Let’s see if anyone is home and introduce ourselves,” Lucy suggests.

They approach the nearest house. No one answers their knock, so they try another. This one’s back door has been left wide open, so Edmund lets himself inside.

Almost immediately, he backs out again, muttering to himself. “No no no.”

“What is it?” Eustace asks.

“Look for yourself,” Edmund replies, and there’s something queer in his voice that’s more like depression than fear.

Eustace and Lucy walk inside. It’s quite dark by now, but Eustace can make out what has so disturbed Edmund.

An upholstered sofa. A four-burner range in the kitchen. Faucets and taps that seem to connect to a proper plumbing system. A telephone.

And to clinch it, what looks like…

“Is that a refrigerator?” Lucy asks in a small voice.

Never have the conveniences of modern life been such an unwelcome sight.

“What an odd dwelling. What manner of creature do you imagine resides here?” Caspian asks from behind them.

“We do,” Eustace says.

He wonders if this is a test. He spent his first few weeks on the _Dawn Treader_ moaning about missing England and modern life. And now, now that he’s finally begun to enjoy the adventure that he’s been gifted, he’s been sent back home, and nothing has ever felt more disappointing.

Eustace walks over to a lamp and switches it on. The room is immediately illuminated by soft fluorescent light. Caspian coos in wonder, but the rest of them sigh. 

“How wonderful!” Caspian exclaims. “It is like the magical torch you left with Trumpkin, except so much bigger and brighter. I have wondered why the legends were oddly silent about the gift Father Christmas gave you, Edmund. It is just as precious as the ones your siblings received.”

“That torch isn’t magic and it wasn’t from Father Christmas. It was something from our world.”

“We aren’t in the Eastern Seas anymore, Caspian,” Eustace explains. “We’ve somehow blundered back into our world. Where Edmund, Lucy and I are from.”

Caspian fairly runs around the room, taking it all in. “It has always been my dearest wish to visit your world. A round world with all the delightful things you have described to me. Do you really think that is where we are? I can scarcely dare to believe it.”

“It certainly looks like home,” Edmund grouses.

“Looks like I was right about the dynamite,” Eustace says.

Caspian reaches under the lampshade to touch the bulb. As expected, he draws his hand back quickly, with an exclamation of pain. “This is the power you explained to me last week, Eustace, is it not? Electriminy.”

“It’s called electricity. But yes. This is it.”

Lucy, as usual, is the first to recover her spirits. She goes to explore the kitchen area and fills glasses for everyone from the faucets. As with everything else in this room, Caspian follows her actions closely. 

“Everything is still plugged in,” she reports. “There’s food in the refrigerator and cabinets. And I think there’s a half-finished game of Monopoly on the table over here, although the set looks a bit different from what I’m used to. Whoever lives here seems to have left expecting to return soon.”

“Should we check one more house, just to make sure we’re truly alone? I wouldn’t want to trespass if there is someone whose hospitality would be freely given.” Caspian is trying to come off as courteous, but his curiosity to explore is transparent.

“Why not?” Edmund says. He rouses himself without much enthusiasm.

The next house is just the same, down to the furniture, and the next one, too. Night has properly fallen by now, leaving the valley too dark to see, so they trudge back to their original house, following the light they left on.

“Come on, Caspian. I’ll show you how the things in the kitchen work,” Eustace says. Latching onto Caspian’s enthusiasm seems like the best way to keep his spirits up. He explains the heating and cooling mechanisms of the refrigerator, and how water gets into the hot and cold taps of the sink.

Exploring the house doesn’t take very long. It consists of the living room they’ve been sitting in, the kitchen area, a bathroom, and one bedroom. Caspian is fascinated by the toilet and shower, and refuses to leave the room until he’s tested the magical overhead spring for himself. When he gets all wet, Edmund, still cranky, tells him it’s his own fault.

Lucy ignores the boys and digs through the medicine cabinet. “They have aspirin! I’ve had such a headache all afternoon. Ever since that light flash.”

“Aspirin? What is that, my lady?”

Lucy thinks. “It’s a bit like my cordial. But it only works to relive small pains, temporarily.”

The four of them scrounge up a decent dinner of pasta, sauce from a jar, a couple of sausages, and a few tins of vegetables. All the food bears the same label as Lucy’s bottle of aspirin—an odd hexagonal mark and the word DHARMA against a white background.

There’s even a bottle of red wine (bearing the same label) that they open while cooking. They’ve been drinking wine most nights since they boarded the Dawn Treader, but Eustace feels a little funny continuing the habit back in his world. The others don’t seem to notice. Perhaps it’s because they have Caspian with them, and because they still don’t quite know where they are.

“I hope this isn’t stealing,” Lucy worries.

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Eustace replies. “We’d starve otherwise.”

“We can leave a ring or some other token as recompense,” Caspian says. “Would such a thing be acceptable in your world?”

“Sure,” Edmund says. 

Over dinner, they argue about where in the world they might be. Edmund has always been best at geography. Given the island’s topography and climate, he guesses they must be somewhere in the Pacific.

Caspian’s having trouble following the conversation, so Eustace goes to search the bookshelf for an atlas. Whoever lives here has a sizable collection of books, a few of which Eustace has read in school.

He finds an atlas, but what he sees on the shelf below makes him stop.

There’s a row of identically sized little boxes lined up like books. Eustace can tell they have something to do with music, since he recognizes the names on a few of them. Beethoven, Mozart, Cole Porter. But, just as with the books, there are many that sound strange: Bob Marley, The Beatles, Smashing Pumpkins and…

“No,” he whispers.

“What’s wrong, Eustace?” Lucy asks. 

He brings one of the little boxes back to the table with him. It’s labeled ‘U2: The Best of 1980-1990’.

Caspian looks blank, but Edmund understands immediately. He goes pale and opens the box. Inside is a thin, circular object that’s shiny on one side and, on the other, sports the same photograph of a little boy that’s on the cover of the box. 

“There’s more, too,” Eustace chokes out. “Come and see.”

The others follow him back to the bookshelf. Eustace pulls down an Agatha Christie novel. 

“I’ve read all of her books, but never heard of this one,” Eustace says. He peers inside, and sure enough, the original publication date is listed as 1965, but this copy was printed in 1995.

Lucy is the only one who keeps her wits about her enough to explain to Caspian what a copyright page is. The four of them tear apart the bookshelf in search of the latest date. It’s Eustace who finds it in the end. 

“ _The Da Vinci Code_ ,” Lucy reads, after noting the 2003 date. “I wonder if it’s a historical novel.”

“Look at this,” Caspian says. He’s been poking around the rest of the room while the others looked at the books. He presses some buttons on a black machine the rest of them hadn’t yet noticed. A small light turns on and a kind of thin drawer comes out. “The groove in this device is the same size as the round metal discs in those boxes. Do you think they are related?”

“Who would have expected Caspian to be two steps ahead of us?” Edmund asks. He bends down and inspects the buttons on the machine. “This looks much more advanced that anything from our time. I think it’s a kind of record player. And these discs are records.”

“They have records, too, though,” Lucy points out.

“A technological transition period,” Eustace says, remembering phrases his parents often use.

Caspian takes one of the disks marked ‘Beethoven’ and places it in the machine’s groove. It takes a few incorrect tries and random presses of buttons, but they eventually get it to work. Edmund, Lucy and Eustace are all accustomed to records, so the concept is not new, but for Caspian, this invisible music is the greatest miracle yet.

“I cannot imagine why you prefer Narnia when you live in such a place of wonders.”

Perhaps it’s because he’s never been a king, or maybe it’s because he’s never technically seen Narnia, but Eustace agrees. He is grateful for his adventure, but he doesn’t dismiss home the way Lucy and Edmund often do. Sad as he is for the trip to be over, he’s almost glad they have Caspian here to voice the same opinion.

“So,” Edmund says, after a few minutes of letting Caspian enjoy the music. “We’ve established that we have come back at least sixty years after leaving. 2003 at least.”

“Which means Susan and Peter and Mother and Father and Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold are all dead,” Lucy says, trying not to cry. “It’s Mr. Tumnus all over again. Oh, Ed, I can’t bear it.”

Eustace isn’t crying, because, he’s had an idea, a fascinating idea that he can use to distract him from the thought that his parents are dead, because they can’t be, this can’t be real. “It was that flash. When we landed here, everything was all right. But then that flash happened and the ship had disappeared. The dock wasn’t there before, and then it was. Something changed, but it wasn’t in place. It must have been in time, do you see? That’s why the tide was all wrong and it got dark long before it should have.”

“It’s like HG Wells,” Lucy says. “Except even more confusing.”

“If you’re right, that means Drinian hasn’t moved the ship at all,” Caspian says. “It’s _we_ who have moved. In time, as well as between worlds. There’s no way to get back to the _Dawn Treader_. Though I suppose there are worse places to be stuck.”

“What I don’t understand,” Edmund says, “is why Aslan has sent us back like this. We usually return at exactly the same moment, and in the same spot. The Professor said it was like that for him as well. And we’ve never had anyone from Narnia come back with us.”

“But it isn’t impossible,” Lucy reminds him. “The White Witch was in England, they told us.”

“True.”

They continue to argue and try to understand for hours, but they don’t get very far. Eventually, Lucy, whose eyes are starting to droop, insists that they all get a good night’s sleep and continue on in the morning. 

There’s only one bedroom, so after a lot of extremely courteous blather, Lucy cuts them all short and says she’ll share the bedroom with Edmund. Caspian whispers to Eustace that he’s quite happy to share the living room with him, because that’s where all of the interesting objects are.

Eustace and Caspian make beds out of the two couches, using sheets and pillows from the linen closet. After months of sleeping in a hammock on a ship, this couch feels more comfortable than any bed Eustace has ever been in. He tries to stay awake while Caspian continues to inspect everything around them, whispering questions and trying to understand Eustace’s half-intelligible sleepy answers.

The next morning, Eustace is awoken by the sound of someone at the front door. He watches the knob shake for a second before he realizes what’s going on.

“Eustace,” Caspian whispers. The noise has woken him up, too. He reaches for their swords and tosses one to Eustace.

Before they’ve had a chance to stand, the door swings open to reveal a handsome man with dark hair and dark eyes, who looks as though he might be about thirty-five years old. Upon seeing people in the house, he immediately draws a pistol from his belt and points it at Caspian’s head.

“Who are you?” the man asks.

“We surrender,” Eustace pleads. He’s been sold into slavery and attacked by a sea serpent, but there’s something about having a gun pointed at his friend that feels more real and sickeningly dangerous than anything during his Narnian voyage.

But Caspian simply laughs. “What has come over you, friend? To fear a short stick of metal? You, who hold a sword and who have faced dragons and—”

“You don’t know what it is,” Eustace tries to explain. “Sir, please don’t shoot. And Caspian, lower your sword.”

At Caspian’s name, the stranger stiffens and lowers his weapon, staring at Caspian as if seeing him for the first time. And when Edmund and Lucy, having been roused by the sound of voices, come out of the bedroom, the man scrambles backwards in a panic.

His eyes are transfixed by Edmund.

“Who are you?” the man asks.

Edmund takes his usual time sizing up this new acquaintance (and also he’s still waking up), so Caspian, always the more gregarious of the two, answers first. “I am Caspian, King of Narnia, Tenth of that name. And these are my friends, King Edmund the Just, and Queen Lucy the Valiant, monarchs of Narnia during its Golden Age, and their kinsman, Eustace Scrubb.”

Eustace knows his parents have cursed him with a particularly dreadful name, but never before has he felt its inadequacy so keenly.

“Caspian, you can’t introduce us like that here,” Lucy whispers. “People will think us mad.”

But the stranger doesn’t laugh the way Eustace would have expected. He nods to himself, and continues to stare, almost hungrily, at Edmund. It’s as though he’s looking at something else—or someone else—entirely. Eustace thinks the man might be touched, for there’s hardly anything to fear here. They’re only children.

“You have our names. Now, how about yours?” Edmund, finally awake, asks dangerously, in the tone of voice that always reminds Eustace that Edmund is more than his goody-two-shoes cousin; he’s a king.

“My name is Richard,” the man finally says. “Richard Alpert.”

* * *

By the time Susan nears the crest of the mountain, the sun has fallen over a ridge of high trees and rocks. After months spent on a ship, her lungs and legs should be giving way, but they’ve held up for hours. She can feel her muscles—calves and hamstrings and shoulders—strengthening in power as she runs. She isn’t the young woman she was two days ago on the ship; for the first time since she was last this age, she is the fleet-footed Queen Susan.

But this isn’t Narnia. Perhaps it’s simply the urgency of the situation eliciting this phantom association. Perhaps it’s simply that she hasn’t pushed herself this hard physically since she was last in Narnia, and it’s the elation of exhaustion that reminds her of it.

At any rate, she’s winded, but not tired by the time she begins picking her way over the peak and down into the next valley. Just as her mysterious advisor promised, she sees primitive tents and small campfires dotted across the field, and what even looks like a vegetable patch to one side of the clearing.

Susan lifts her hands in the air, knowing her sudden appearance will likely disturb the unsuspecting natives. Best to make an immediate show of harmlessness.

An older woman is the first to notice her. She gets the attention of two younger men. An angry-looking teenage girl with blond hair grabs an old gun—so old, it belongs in an antique shop—and aims it in Susan’s general direction. Others produce weapons, as well: slingshots, crudely fashioned archery equipment, more old guns. Soon, the entire camp has a weapon trained on her.

They think they’re intimidating her, but in reality, they are simply providing her with the opportunity to survey their armory and fighting skills. Their rudimentary weapons and shoddy aim pose a challenge to her objective, but she thinks she can work with this, given trust and time (neither of which she currently has).

She can also see why the man in the woods corrected her when she asked where the ‘natives’ might be found. These people look nothing like the Pacific Islanders she has encountered along this voyage. Most of them are as fair-skinned as herself.

“Stop where you are,” a nasty-faced boy commands, in an accent Susan has heard somewhere before but can’t currently place.

“I mean you no harm,” Susan announces.

“Stop and give us your name, sir,” the blonde girl with the gun also commands.

The older woman laughs. “Sir? As I breathe, that’s a woman. Are your eyes broken, Ellie?”

“Stop where you are or I’ll shoot,” Ellie repeats nervously, her finger on the trigger. But Susan has met and commanded enough green soldiers to know that she won’t. 

“I am looking for Richard,” Susan says with regal calm, slowing her steps but not stopping entirely. This is exactly like entering giant territory for negotiations, she tells herself. She can do this. She’s done it before. No one was ever better, not even Edmund. “Would you please let me know where I can find him?”

One of the older men walks slowly towards her, narrowing his eyes, not in threat, but rather in thought, as if he’s trying to piece together a picture in his head, or call upon some hazed-over memory. “Who are you, girl?”

“My business is with Richard,” she politely but firmly replies. “Once I have met with him, I will be glad to answer any relevant questions.”

The man turns to some of the others. “Doesn’t she put you in mind of—” But the comparison is interrupted when one of the tents flaps open and someone new emerges.

“What’s going on here?”

Ellie gestures at Susan with her gun. “This stranger just walked into our camp demanding an audience with you.”

Richard comes closer. He looks… not at all what Susan expected (though, if pressed, she doesn’t know what exactly she expected). He is a strikingly handsome man of about thirty-five years of age. Dark eyelashes even longer than her own, a strong, chiseled jaw, and thick black hair.

“Who are you and where have you come from?”

Susan remembers the advice her odd benefactor gave her. _You’ll have more success as yourself than as Lieutenant Peters._

It feels like a risk, but she answers, “My name is Susan Pevensie. I came aboard a US Naval ship that is currently anchored twenty leagues off the southwest shore of this island. I have come to warn you that everyone on this island will die if you do not assist me.”

Richard laughs, showing bright white teeth and a matinee idol smile. He’s teasing when he answers, “That’s quite dramatic, Susan Pevensie. And what exactly is this doom that awaits us?”

“A hydrogen bomb, sir. The Navy intends to perform a test here. Not only that, but the bomb they intend to detonate is unstable, which will lead to even more destruction than a usual test. I can help you stop them, if you will trust me.”

“Trust you? A strange woman entering our camp… Your uniform says US Navy. Why would you want to betray your own people?”

She’s gone this far; she might as well give away the entire story. “I am a British spy on the ship. I left my post to find you once I realized there were people at risk, and once I realized the bomb was defective. They cannot be allowed to detonate it.”

“I don’t understand,” one of the older folks interjects. “It’s only a bomb. Why would it destroy the entire island? And if it’s defective, even better.”

“Don’t you know the difference between a hydrogen bomb and a normal one?” Susan asks. The blank look on the man’s face tells her the answer.

“We’re rather remote here,” Richard explains to her. “We don’t get a lot of news from the outside world. I’m the only one who’s heard of the kind of bomb you mean.”

“The crew that came ashore with it is quite small. The Americans will not want to fire their weapons too close to it. Your weapons would give you an advantage in a fight, since bows and slingshots and swords require no powder. I ask only that you allow the men to return to the ship unharmed. The majority of them are good men who know not what harm they are causing. In fact, I am the only one who knows anyone lives here. I believe that if we can convince them of the danger to themselves as well as to you, they will retreat.”

“What’s in it for you?” Ellie asks.

“Nothing.”

A few of the older people scoff, but Richard studies her seriously (though not as closely as some members of the crowd, who continue to point at her and prod one another, whispering too softly for Susan to hear their words). Finally, he extends a hand, beckoning her to walk with him back to his tent.

“Richard, you can’t be serious,” the unpleasant teenage boy says, and Susan wishes for nothing more than to box his ears.

Thankfully, Richard seems to have as little patience for the boy as she does. “Hold your tongue, Charles. You are not in charge here.”

Once they’re alone inside the tent, Richard offers Susan a seat. “I apologize if we seem hostile. We don’t get a lot of visitors.”

Susan has managed too many situations not to be able to tell when she herself is being managed. Richard has brought her here to question her in private, to lower her guard with this show of friendliness. To show that she won’t fall for it, Susan turns the questioning on him before he can begin. “Where do all of you come from? None of you look native to this part of the world. And no matter how remote this island is, I find it hard to believe that none of the people outside have heard of what happened in Hiroshima.”

Richard gives her an enigmatic smile that seems patterned after the answer-free smile of the man back in the woods. “How did you find us?” he asks, instead of answering.

“I followed tracks,” she says.

“We don’t leave many tracks. Only someone very experienced would be able to follow them. Even if you possessed that kind of knowledge, tracks wouldn’t tell you my name. So, I’ll ask you again. How did you find us?”

“I met a man in the woods.” Susan knows her story sounds thinner and thinner the more of it she tells; however, she was told to tell Richard the truth. All of her instructions so far have been correct, so she keeps going. “He told me where to find you. He told me to ask for you. He knew my name. He knew… I think he knew everything about me, but I didn’t know him.”

Richard leans forward and his eyes sparkle with interest. “What did he look like?”

Susan gives a full description of her encounter, watching Richard nod to himself with every detail. Whoever this man is, Richard seems to know him. Susan decides to capitalize on his increasingly receptive manner; she keeps talking, describing her mission, her weeks spent on the ship, the specific threat posed by the bomb, the little she knows about its mechanics, the number of men in the crew, the fraction of them who might put up a fight… everything that could possibly be relevant.

It doesn’t take him long to engage with her story. Together, they concoct a plan of diplomacy first, and defense second. Oddly, despite appearing to be the leader of this ragtag group of people, Richard allows Susan, a stranger, to drive the strategy.

When they’re in agreement, he leads her out of the tent and calls everyone to pay attention to Susan’s instructions. A few of the younger ones look skeptical, but no one dares argue with Richard. 

That night, he hands her a roll and blanket. “You can sleep in any tent you choose. There is room in—”

“I’ll sleep under the stars,” she says. “It has been a lifetime since I last did so.”

“A lifetime?” Richard repeats. “Strange choice of words for someone your age.”

She realizes her slip too late. This place, the air here… it reminds her too much of home, a home that is no longer hers. She shakes her head. She cannot allow an impossible nostalgia to make her sloppy.

The next morning is spent sharpening arrows, tightening bowstrings, hunting for slingshot-sized rocks, and collecting what little ammunition exists for their few guns. The younger set possesses excellent woodland skills; they move through grass and climb trees as silently as cats. 

_Yes,_ , Susan thinks as she explains their part of the plan, _this can work._

Richard simply observes all of these dynamics, listens with interested when member after member of the group goes up to him and whispers emphatically, clearly about Susan. His eyes follow her hotly around the camp. If she weren’t already flushed and sweaty from the heat, she’d blush.

“Are we ready?” he asks a couple of hours later.

“Yes. It’s time.”

* * *

Caspian steamrolls Edmund and Eustace’s attempts to silence him and spills out the entire, impossible tale. Lucy had expected a much more difficult time, but Richard proves himself to be the most understanding and sympathetic grown-up she’s ever met, because he accepts it all without question.

Richard doesn’t call Caspian mad, doesn’t treat them like children, doesn’t scoff at the idea of worlds in paintings. He simply listens, nodding sometimes, and blinking his dark, solemn eyes from time to time.

“Have you also been to Narnia?” she asks once Caspian and Edmund have finished their tale.

“Why do you ask that?” he asks, with a very sad twinkle in his eye.

Richard is the saddest person Lucy has ever met, though he hides it under that carefully composed face. His handsomeness is almost a mask, but Lucy’s always been good at seeing through masks.

“Because you don’t seem all that surprised,” she answers. “Most people would have told us to stop the game by now. But you haven’t. It’s as though you’ve been expecting something like this, though perhaps not today.”

Richard seems to have been struggling with something since walking in here. Whatever it is, he finally makes his decision. “We don’t have talking animals or dryads, but the island is a very special place in its own way. You aren’t the first people I’ve met who have experienced these time flashes.” 

“So you actually believe us?” Edmund asks. “That we—or Caspian, at least—came out of a whole other world, not just another time?”

“I knew someone once, many years ago…” Richard looks pained, chooses his words carefully. “She came here broken, but the island healed her. It gave her a new purpose, reminded her of who she was and who she could be. It does that for a lot of people. And then, years after she got here, she decided it was time to find her family and friends again. She set off in a boat and was never heard from again. She went somewhere… else. So, the idea that you have come from somewhere else, too, isn’t new.”

Eustace sighs. “Maybe this is why Aslan sent us here. You have to be the only adult in the whole world who’d believe us.”

“Yes,” Edmund agrees. “Can you help us? We don’t know how to get back to England, or what we’re supposed to do when we get there. Everyone we know is probably dead, you see, if today really is New Year’s Day 2005.”

Richard looks stricken every time Edmund speaks and this time is no different. Lucy watches him carefully as he rests his forearms across his thighs and looks out the window to think. Never before has she so badly wanted to figure something out as she wants to understand what troubles him.

“I think you should stay here for the time being,” he finally says. “The way back to where you came from is through the island. There should be another flash to take you back to your ship, though I don't know when... or _when_ it will come, if you know what I mean. I'll take you to Jacob. He will probably know how to make it happen.”

“Who is Jacob?” Caspian asks.

“He’s this island’s version of Aslan.”

“Is he a lion, too?”

“No.”

Caspian looks at Edmund. “What do you think? You three understand the workings of this realm better than I. I will follow your lead.”

“I vote we stay with Richard and see what he can do,” Lucy says before Edmund answers.

Slowly, the boys agree. Richard gives Lucy a thin-lipped, ever-pained smile for easing the way. 

“I have some work to do that, if you’re not too squeamish, I could use some help with. Something tells me you aren’t. It's why I came here this morning. When we’re done, I’ll take you to where the rest of my people are camped. They’ll be very pleased to meet you. You have no idea. Your coming here… it’s a big deal.”

“What sort of work?” Eustace asks.

Richard narrows his eyes. “You said you got here at dusk, right? How much of the village did you see?”

“None. We came into the first house we came across.”

Richard nods. “Follow me.”

He throws open the door and leads them outside, barefoot and in the oversized grown-up pajamas they scrounged out of the closets. They get their first real look at the village.

Bodies. There are dead bodies everywhere. 

“What happened here?” Edmund asks.

“Mercenaries. They came on a freighter,” Richard answers. “They were looking for our leader, and killed anyone who got in their way.”

“Are they still here? The mercenaries?” Eustace asks.

“Something got them in the end. It’s over.”

Edmund tilts his head and looking knowingly at Richard. “You said 'something'. You mean the smoke, don't you?”

“I see you have already met it.”

“You said they were looking for your leader. Aren’t _you_ the leader?” Lucy asks. Because Richard carries himself the way Peter used to, back when he was High King and they were all grown-ups. 

“No, I’m more of an advisor. Your—” He stops himself. “We have had a succession of leaders, and my job is to help each of them.”

“But you don’t look very old,” Eustace points out. “Unless you switch out leaders every year.” 

“I’m older than I look.”

“So are Ed and I,” Lucy says, patting his hand, because he looks like he needs it.

Richard smiles sadly. “I know.” 

It turns out that they need dig only one grave this morning. The rest of Richard's people are currently digging a mass grave for the rest, he says, in another part of the island. 

“The rest are strangers, but she was one of my people,” he says, pointing at a teenage girl through whose head someone has put a bullet. “I want her buried by this swing set. It was her favorite place.”

“You’re _certain_ these mercenaries are gone?” Edmund asks, shaken at the sight of a young girl killed in this heartless way.

“Positive.”

They dig in silence. It’s sweltering, backbreaking work, but Lucy refuses to be told that she’s just a little girl. Even though Richard refuses her one, she goes in search of her own shovel so she can help.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers to Richard later, when the boys are taking a short break in a house to get some water.

“Sorry for what?”

“That she left.”

Richard’s eyes go wide, despite his usual mastery of self. “Who are you talking about?”

“The woman you spoke of. The one who left to go find her family.”

“I…” Richard’s tongue goes still and Lucy knows she’s right.

“She looked just like Edmund, didn’t she?”

“How do you know all this? There’s no way you could know.”

“I can tell you’re sad, that’s all. And the way you keep staring at Edmund, like you’ve seen a ghost. That you still miss her. That you aren’t very happy.”

Richard goes back to digging, not responding. The boys return and Richard shoots Lucy a look begging her to keep silent. She nods, understanding. 

They never met Alex when she was alive, but they pack the earth over her as though she were a long-lost sister. Richard says a few solemn words of farewell and sprinkles ashes around the grave. Caspian asks if he can give her a Narnian send-off as well. Richard says that would be fitting, so Caspian breaks into a sweet, sad song that Lucy remembers from faun funerals. She and Edmund haltingly join in, though they get some of the words wrong; the lyrics must have changed over a thousand years.

Lucy holds Richard’s hand the entire time. 

“It’s time,” he says when they’re done. “I’ll take you the rest of my people and then we will march to where Jacob is usually found. I’ll ask him if there’s a way to get you to some time and place that’s better for you.”

But they barely make it out of the village when it happens of its own accord.

It hits Eustace first. His mewl of pain makes Richard stop in his tracks. 

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s happening again,” Lucy says, clutching her head. 

She knows Richard has watched this before, that he must know they’ll be all right, but he wraps his arms around Lucy and Edmund anyway, holding them through it.

“Don’t give up on her,” he tells them quickly, as though he’s been holding it inside but now can’t bear the thought of losing them before telling them some great secret. “People don’t forget. They only sometimes act like they do because it’s easier than living your life in a past no one will believe.”

“Don’t give up on whom?” Edmund gasps. “What are you talking about?”

“She had some other business she was meant to take care of first. She’ll always come back to you. She’ll never forget.”

And then he’s gone. 

The bright light subsides, and when Lucy recovers from the momentary blindness, she sees other people standing around them.

“Dude…” one of them says wonderingly.

* * *

Amidst triumphant cheers and whoops, Susan is carried on the shoulders of the island’s people on their way back from the camp. 

For all that she had preferred to sit out the wars in Narnia, focusing more on international diplomacy and home affairs, Susan _did_ pay attention. Peter would have been proud of her plan and its execution today, she thinks. The Navy has been routed and its soldiers have gone running or limping back to the ship. 

They have a bomb to deal with now, leaking and propped up in the middle of a clearing, but the people are tired. As long as they stay away from it, they can worry about it tomorrow.

“Halt!” someone at the front of the group suddenly commands. 

Susan slips off the shoulders of the people carrying her to investigate. Everyone makes a path for her. They already follow her lead, despite having arrived only yesterday.

“What is it?” she whispers.

“More strangers,” Ellie replies. “Not soldiers, though. They are too soft for that.”

Susan sees them hiding behind trees along the riverbank. A middle-aged couple consisting of a nervous-looking man and a dark woman with short hair. She sees why Ellie has called them soft, but the girl is young and has not yet learned how to see beneath the surface. There is steel in these people, harder than anyone in the Navy had. The kind of steel that only great adversity can instill. But kindness, too.

“Let me handle this,” she whispers, holding up a hand.

The group stays back while Susan approaches them.The couple put their hands in the air.

“Don’t shoot us!”

“Why would anyone shoot you?” Susan asks calmly. 

“You people usually do.”

As far as Susan has heard, the only strangers who have come to the island in the past few years have been the Naval officers they just routed. Something is amiss.

“I promise no one will hurt you. What are your names?”

“Like you don’t already know,” the woman says testily. “We know all about your files and your background checks. You know every face and name that was on Oceanic 815.” 

They don’t _look_ mad, and their faces are not lying, but they speak utter nonsense. Susan cannot figure it out. 

“Oceanic 815?” she asks, as sweetly as possible, hoping to calm them from whatever trauma they have obviously experienced. “And what is that?”

The man scoffs. “Don’t play dumb.”

Susan decides to try another approach. “My name is Susan Pevensie. I am new to this island and would like to help you. Perhaps, if you have been here for some time, you can also help me.”

The woman approaches Susan, slapping the man’s hand away from holding her back. She peers at Susan, and Susan allows herself to be inspected. She has nothing to hide. 

“You’re not an Other, are you?” the woman asks.

“I don’t think so, but I confess I don’t know what you mean. Is that a riddle?” 

“If you aren’t an Other, what are you doing with them?” The man points at Richard and his people.

“I allied with them yesterday to rout invaders from a ship who threatened to blow up the entire island.”

This seems to mollify them, because they begin nodding to themselves.

“The mercenaries from the freighter,” the man mutters.

Susan decides to let it stand, even though she did not come on a freighter. Anything that gets him to trust her will work.

“Bernard, she’s all right. I can tell. She's telling the truth. She doesn't know what we're talking about, but she means well.”

This woman, like Lucy, Susan remembers with a pang, seems to have the gift of seeing right through people.

“I’m Rose. Rose Nadler. And this is my husband, Bernard. Our plane crashed here a few months ago. Oceanic Flight 815. The rest of our group of survivors was supposed to meet up by the creek, but they haven't shown up yet.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rose and Bernard. And I promise,” Susan says, looking back at Richard and the group, “I promise that no harm shall befall you. Richard, may I have your word that these people will be left to go about their business?”

“Sure. These two are to be left alone, forever.”

“Do you hear that?” Susan says.

“Thanks,” Bernard says, though he doesn’t seem to believe it.

Then they both double over in pain.

“Is everything all right?” Susan asks, rushing to catch Rose.

“It’s happening again,” Rose gasps. “The sky… the light is coming.”

The tall trees block out most of the sky, so Susan has no idea what they’re talking about.

And then they are gone.

Susan gapes at the spot where they had been standing.

In a moment, Richard is at her side, with everyone else slowly approaching as well.

“What happened?” she asks.

“I have no idea,” Richard says.

“So this is not a regular occurrence?”

“The island is a special place, but for as long as I’ve been here, I haven’t seen anything like this.”

“It looked like magic,” Susan says, mostly to herself. “They were summoned.”

“What do you mean?” someone behind her asks sharply.

Susan thinks back to the day on the train platform, the horrible prickling, doubling over from pain just as these two had, the out of breath quality as you’re being dragged somewhere… 

“We’ve followed you even though you showed up out of nowhere,” one of the men says, interrupting Susan’s memories. “Now it’s time to tell us who you really are.”

“I told you. My name is Susan Pevensie.”

“Yes, you told us your name. But who are you really? That’s what we want to know.”

She remembers what the serene blond man had told her. _When they ask you a question, answer with the truth… You’ll have more success as yourself…_

So, bravely— _insanely_ —she answers, “I am Queen Susan of Narnia.”

A murmur of excitement ripples through the camp. But their reaction is not mockery or disbelief. Instead, the people who have stared at her with wonder since her arrival now whoop and congratulate one another.

“I told you!”

“I knew it was her.”

“Would never forget a face like that, not even older as she is.”

“Looks just like her brother. Do you remember? Same coloring, same face. Cheeky as anything, waltzing into Miraz’s camp and making demands, just as she walked into our camp yesterday.”

“What are you talking about?” Susan asks, blanching, especially at the last comment.

An older gentleman steps up to her and, shockingly, drops to one knee. “My name is Glozelle. Many years ago, I was a general. A general who made the mistake of not kneeling before your brothers when I should have.”

“General Glozelle? The Telmarine?”

“Telmarine. Or Narnian. Now a resident of this island, where Aslan sent us after the war.”

Susan looks around and remembers the glimpse of tropical beach she had glimpsed through Aslan’s magical doorway during her last minutes in Narnia. She can’t believe this is it. She wonders what it means that her journey has brought her here, to the place where reside the people who chose to leave Narnia for a life more suited to them.

“How long have you been here?”

“It has been ten years since we arrived here from Narnia. Richard was here to welcome us,” someone else says.

“It has been ten years for me, too, since I last saw you all,” Susan says. 

“What of your siblings?” Glozelle asks. “The other kings and queen of legend?”

“They are gone, by Aslan’s grace. I am the only one who remains.”

“Luckily for us,” Glozelle says. 

“We have an opening right now for a new leader,” Richard says. “If you’d be interested in staying. I think… Jacob himself sent you to us. I think this is where you belong.”

Susan thinks back to England, to the cold empty house she inherited, to the listlessness that had driven her to despair. She looks around her now, to the last vestiges of Narnia, to the warm sea that she can just see twinkling in the distance, to the people who look at her as a queen and remind her that she is one, once and always. 

“I think so, too.”

* * *

Caspian blinks. It is over. The terrible light has subsided. He is in the same patch of forest as he was before, but he knows what to expect now. They have traveled to yet another time.

(The others have been unhappy ever since arriving here, but for Caspian, this is the greatest adventure he could ever have imagined. He hopes it never ends.)

Beside him is a body. This man had been stabbed. Death must have happened recently, for the wound still oozes. 

This island is littered with fallen victims. Caspian cannot understand why so many people are being killed in so beautiful a place.

As his ears stop ringing, he begins to discern startled voices around him.

“Dude,” one person says. “Am I the only person seeing this?”

“No, you aren’t,” says someone else in a pleasing, rumbling accent Caspian has never heard before and would like to continue listening to. “I see them, too.”

Caspian rubs his eyes. The one with an accent like Richard's is a jolly-looking man of considerable size. The one with the rumbling voice is a tall man with longish hair and a noble mien. Caspian likes them immediately. Behind them stands a shorter, shiftier-looking gentleman. And a dog.

Everyone looks as though they’ve been crying. Whatever moment Caspian and his friends have happened upon, it is not a happy one.

Two more people arrive: a middle aged couple. They seem to have been called to the scene by the barking of the dog. 

“Hurley!” the woman says and launches herself into the arms of the fat one. 

“Rose and Bernard! You’re alive.”

They all hug. At least, even in this sadness, there is some joy, Caspian thinks. He and his friends have remained quiet, trying to fade into the background and allow these people their reunion and their grief. If it had been his choice, he would have had the flash take him elsewhere, where they could not distract.

Rose crouches down beside the body that she spots for the first time. “Oh no. Was it…?”

Hurley nods. “We got it, though. The smoke monster. It’s over.”

“Thank god. But still.” Rose prays a bit over the body, kisses the limp hand.

“What’s Ben doing here?” Bernard asks, glancing at the shifty one, and then over at Caspian and his friends. “And who are these kids, and who gave them swords?”

Edmund speaks before Caspian can launch into formal introductions the way he did with Richard. “My name is Edmund Pevensie, and this is my sister Lucy. And my cousin Eustace, and our friend Caspian. We have been traveling through time ever since arriving on this island. Our hope is to get back to a time and a place where we can reunite with our ship, or at least with our families. Our last encounter was with a man named Richard. Do you know him?”

“Pevensie you said?” Rose says, staring at Edmund. “Bernard, do you remember? It can’t be a coincidence. I mean, look at him.”

“Of course I remember. Like twins, they are.”

“Do we know you?” Lucy asks.

“My name’s Rose. This is Bernard. We once met... Not sure exactly _when_ we were at that point, but it must have been your grandmother. Her name was Pevensie. She’s the reason we’re still alive today. The Others left us alone, no matter when we were, because of her.”

“Our grandmother never traveled out of England,” Edmund says.

Ben speaks for the first time. “It wasn’t their grandmother.”

“Excuse me?” Lucy asks.

“Richard’s gone,” the same man says, ignoring the question. 

“Did he… Is he dead?” Lucy asks. 

“No, you just missed him,” Hurley says. “He got on a plane a few minutes ago. Flew right out of here.”

Lucy breaks into a grin. “He’ll be happy?”

Hurley seems to understand, for he grins back. “I think so.”

“What did you mean about our grandmother?” Edmund persists.

“When I first became leader, many years ago, Richard gave me strict instructions about what to do if you showed up and he wasn’t around to meet you. And he reiterated them to me a few days ago.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Edmund says.

“I wasn’t trying to.” Ben shrugs. "His plan was to get you to Jacob so he could help you. But Jacob’s dead.”

Hurley takes a deep breath. “Maybe… Maybe I can help?”

He sounds very unsure of himself.

“You can do this, Hugo,” Ben says, encouragingly. 

Caspian decides that although shifty-looking and very avoidant of certain questions, they may, possibly, perhaps, be able to trust Ben. His confidence in Hurley—Hugo?—is an endearing quality.

“What about you guys?” Hurley asks the couple.

“We’re staying. You don’t need to worry about us.” Rose stares at Edmund again. “You’re _sure_ it wasn’t their grandmother?”

“Positive," Ben says. "But yes, someone did issue an order in the fifties to keep you two safe and unbothered. That's why we never came by during the 70s or more recently. But let’s change the subject. Richard’s request.”

“It looks to me, friends,” Caspian says kindly, still regretting his group’s intrusion on this moment, “that we have business to attend to first. Here lies a body. The body of a man who died, I would wager, very nobly. We shall help you dig him an appropriate grave before any talk of our needs.”

“Two bodies in one day,” Edmund mumbles to himself, shaking his head. “What are the odds?”

“You’ve buried someone else today?” Ben asks.

“We helped Richard bury a girl just before we flashed here,” Lucy says. “A girl named Alex, about Caspian’s age.”

Ben goes very still.

Hurley whistles. “Hey, isn’t that the name of—”

“Yes,” Ben snaps, shutting him up. Then, more kindly he says, “Thank you.”

“Where do the shovels live in this time?” Caspian asks courteously. 

While the rest of them discuss, he pats his small pack, in which he has hidden the bottle of aspirin, a map torn from the atlas in the house, and a book of short stories by someone named Poe. He looks forward to what artifacts he can retrieve from this time as well. The others need never know.

* * *

Susan hasn’t seen Jacob except that one time in the woods, but Richard has told her that he has asked to see her. So, she takes a pack and sets out on a lovely, solitary hike. 

It’s been only three years, but she has already learned every leaf and every stream of this island as well as she once knew Narnia's. Her people are as healthy and happy as her subjects had been. Peace has reigned on the island ever since more of those odd, disappearing people had arrived and told Richard to bury the bomb. 

There was a time when she thought she’d never be happy again, but the island has proven her wrong. There was a time when she thought she’d never let herself care for anyone again, but now she has her people, and Richard.

Susan finds Jacob well before she reaches the statue where he lives. He is sitting on a log, weaving bits of palm frond into what looks like a bowl. 

He looks up at her and smiles, patting a place beside him in invitation.

“Why did you want to see me today?” she asks.

“I have something to show you that will make you happy. Come. We should hide.”

“From whom?” Susan asks, although she knows she won’t get an answer.

Jacob leads her behind the tree line and sits himself comfortably in the grass. Susan follows suit.

She stares at the sea for a few minutes. For all she knows, this is all Jacob has to show her. For the view _does_ make her happy. 

But then there’s a funny sort of pop and then…

“It can’t be,” she gasps.

She’s ready to run to them, to throw herself at them and never let go, but Jacob grabs her and puts his hand over her mouth.

“They can’t know you’re here. You cannot derail the story.”

Susan struggles, but his grip is strong. She can only watch as Edmund and Lucy help Eustace and Caspian to their feet. They look around and then begin pointing excitedly into the distance.

“There it is!”

“The Dawn Treader has never looked so beautiful.”

“And there’s the rowboat!” Edmund says, jumping in excitement. “He did it! Hurley did it!”

“I do hope Desmond got out all right, too,” Lucy says.

“I’m sure he did,” Caspian responds.

They wave frantically. Whatever they’re looking at is hidden by the clump of trees Susan is hiding behind, but she guesses it is the ship. They take off at a run to the rowboat.

She watches helplessly, longingly, as they run run down the beach and sail out of sight. 

She’s known of course. Since arriving on the island, she has seen connections between her own experience, the disappearing time travelers, and the wild story Edmund, Lucy and Eustace had told her about an island where they’d spent most of their time burying people. She has remembered the name Richard being listed amongst the personnages in the story, as well as how everyone had stared at Edmund. She knows how strongly they always resembled one another.

Lucy must have known the truth all along, Susan sees now. She was always so coy about that story, and she and Edmund always remained by her side, even as the others grew frustrated with her. How she’d always teased Susan about being meant for a ‘dark and handsome stranger, but perhaps not a tall one.’ Lucy had known, but had known better than to tell.

Susan has been happy here on the island, but the one thing she’s missed are the photographs she had of her family back in England. Today, Jacob has given her a more recent picture to place in the forefront of her mind.

“Thank you,” she says when she can finally speak again.

Jacob holds her hand. “I just wanted you to know, when you’re ready, you can follow them.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re close to the end of their journey. The edge of the world isn’t too far off from where they are now. Close enough for a few days' sail. And you know what lies beyond it. All you need is the right compass bearing.”

“You mean… Like Reepicheep?” There’s no reason for Jacob to know who and what she’s talking about, but he seems to know everything else. “Are you telling me that whenever I want, I can sail from here to Aslan’s country?”

He nods. 

“What about Richard?”

She hasn’t been here long enough for it yet to have become a problem, but Susan can see where this will go. She will continue to age and Richard will remain exactly the same. An escape from death was his wish, and in granting it, Jacob has cut him off from ever moving on. A trade-off Richard already seems to have begun to regret having made. 

“Richard will follow one day, when he is truly ready. But that is his story, and I can’t tell it, which I think is a maxim someone else once told you.”

Susan wonders why they’re here now, why Jacob is telling her this. “Are you sending me away? Is that why you brought me here today?”

“No. I hope you’ll stay awhile longer. As long as you want. You’ve been good for the people here. You’ve tipped the scales in my favor.”

“What scales? What are you talking about?”

He simply smiles. Susan knows he will never explain.


End file.
